Page 64 of Dangerous Obsession

“You can have it back when we’re done.” He wrestled his wallet from his back pocket and slid out a crisp fifty-dollar bill. “Here’s your money. I appreciate you watching the store for me.”

“Why did you want me to watch that place, anyway?” Greg folded up the bill, lifted his hip, and shoved the money into the front pocket of his jeans.

“I already told you, it’s none of your business,” he said.

“I know you’re not here to make some sort of bullshit apology.” Greg took another tentative sip from his mug. “What do you really want?”

Maybe Deborah’s kid still had a few functioning brain cells left.

“I need to use your car.” His thumb flipped through the cash in his wallet, and he pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill and slid it across the table.

“What do you want my car for?” Greg plucked the bill off the table and shoved it in his pocket with the other one. “You got a truck.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to it. Hell, I’ll even have it detailed for you.” He needed the kid’s help, and shit knows his car could probably use a good delousing.

“What’s the catch?” Greg slumped back against the booth and squinted skeptically as his fingertip tapped the ceramic mug.

“No catch.” Cliff smiled and winked at the older server when she dropped off his coffee. “Thanks, darlin’.”

“Would you like a refill, honey?” She turned her attention to Greg and lifted the pot.

He nodded, slid his mug closer, and she filled it to the brim.

“Thanks,” he mumbled without making eye contact.

“Let’s order.” Cliff flipped open the menu to check out the options. He’d wager that the worst thing on this menu was better than the best thing he’d ever eaten in prison. “You go first while I figure out what I want.”

He snuck a quick glance at the rooster clock on the wall behind Greg and relaxed a fraction. There was still plenty of time for him to get to Marigold’s store before it opened.

Greg ordered a loaded omelet with hash browns, and Cliff ordered chicken-fried steak with eggs, toast, and bacon. Just thinking about it made his mouth water.

“Thanks,” said the waitress. “I’ll go put your order in. Y’all just give me a wave if you need anything.” She tucked their menus under her arm, topped off Cliff’s coffee, and the rubber soles of her sensible shoes squeaked on the linoleum as she walked back to the kitchen.

Three coffee refills later, Cliff used his last slice of toast to scrape his plate clean and popped it into his mouth. He pushed the plate away and gulped some water.

“Damn, that was good.” He sat back and put his hand on his belly with a satisfied sigh. “I’ve missed being able to order whatever I want and take my time eating it.”

“Yeah, prison food sucks,” Greg said.

Cliff eyed him as he shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. Before the drugs, he was probably a decent-looking kid. And Deborah had mentioned that she sent both of her kids to the best private schools. So how in the hell did Greg manage to fuck up his life so badly?

The server glanced over, noticed they were close to being done, and headed their way.

“Can I get you boys anything else?” She started gathering up their dirty dishes.

“How ’bout some dessert?” He gave Greg a questioning look.

“We’ve got fresh apple pie right out of the oven.” The waitress tempted him and pointed to the pies sitting beneath the heat lamps on the pass-through between the kitchen and dining room. “I can even put vanilla ice cream on top, if you want.”

Cliff used the distraction to shove the kid’s ball cap under his coat.

“I guess that would be good.” Greg tried to act uninterested, but he gave himself away by licking his lips.

“Two pieces of pie a la mode, coming up.” She added the last dirty dish to the stack in her arms.

“Oh, just one for my friend here, please.” He gave Greg a regretful look. “I have to meet a guy about a job.”

“Whatever.” The kid shrugged his indifference.

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